


If I May, If I Might

by Squashers



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Depression, Gen, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 05:58:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2337716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squashers/pseuds/Squashers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kieren is drifting in the weeks after the news of Rick's death. Jem comes to talk to him, and so unconsciously triggers a decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I May, If I Might

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this just came into my head. It's 4 AM and I have an audition tomorrow but I needed to write this.

It's been two weeks since Kieren sat on the sofa while his parents told him the news in cautious, sympathetic tones. Two weeks since Kieren's brain went from whirling, agonized thoughts to one long static signal of shock. Two weeks since he drifted upstairs to his bedroom and curled up on his bed and stared into the Stygian depths of his closet, unable to cry.

His family pretends not much has changed. It's fine, it's all fine. He's just upset, he'll be okay. Just feed him lamb every time you hear a panic attack through the closed door of his room or see badly-concealed tear tracks on his face. Offer him movies to watch even though you know he'll decline every time with the same dull voice. Talk for him, fill up the silence you're not used to when he sits at the dinner table, pushing his food around on his plate but not eating, not speaking, not looking at anyone. Plaster on smiles and cheerful voices and hope somehow it'll transfer into him. Don't mention it when you notice he's stopped wearing short sleeves even though it's summer, don't mention it when he hasn't changed his clothes in four days, when he has a panic attack just stepping outside the front door. It's all fine, just ignore it and it'll be fine.

Kieren goes for walks now, just to get out of the stifling atmosphere of the house, to get away from the unspoken Problem Of Kieren that hangs over them. He never has any destination in mind; he just wanders the fields and streets until he's too tired to walk back, then he turns around and walks home. If he just walks aimlessly, he won't have to think of a goal or the future or the people he might see on the way. If he's exhausted, he won't lie awake on his bed the whole night, visualizing all those painful moments and knowing it was his fault, his fault.

If he goes out at night, his parents wait up for him. Sometimes his mum makes him tea when he gets back, but he never drinks it. He pours it out his bedroom window and brings down the empty cup, trying to give her a smile that looks a little less like a grimace, but the expression feels forced and wrong on his face.

Jem pretends the least. She can see that her brother is hurting and sad, even if she doesn't entirely know why. Sometimes if she hears him late at night, she tiptoes into his room and sits with him. She doesn't say anything, and usually she brings a book to read, but she sits in bed next to him with one hand in his hair, or leans up against his leg while he sits at his desk and stares tiredly at an empty sketchpad. She's less inclined to tiptoe around him though, and treats him much the same as she always did. Kieren appreciates it, as much as he can appreciate things right now.

He can't draw anymore, or paint. That strange warmth that once burned in him and singed his heart each time he put brush or pencil or paper to paper has gone dark; his chest is cold and empty. He holds the pen in the same place for minutes on end before it drops from loose fingers with a sad clatter. He feels dead inside sometimes, and his fingers feel as stiff and lifeless as the colour-bleached canvases interminably waiting for him.

Some days he doesn't get out of bed in the morning and stares into his closet while thoughts whirl in his head. You pushed him too hard, it's your fault. You asked too much of him, he loved you enough, you didn't have to want him to tell the world about it. Close words and drunken fumblings in the cave were good enough, weren't they? Why'd you have to go asking for more? It's because of you he ran off to Afghanistan. It's because you pushed him for more, too fast, too much, and he had to get away. He was scared of you or angry at you. And now he hates you like everyone else does. Maybe they're right, maybe you are just a stupid faggot. Maybe you are just a worthless piece of gayboy trash. Maybe he won't ever love you like you love him, not when you can't fit in and he's every father's dream. Maybe he ran away because he didn't want to be like you. Maybe they're all right and you shouldn't even exist. Maybe you shouldn't pollute this town with your presence any longer. He'd be better of without you, you made him leave. You shouldn't have said anything, shouldn't have made him realize that he shouldn't be with you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

Kieren hears Jem slam the door as she comes home from school, listens to hear pound up the stairs and fling her backpack at the wall of her bedroom without moving from his bed. He's been entertaining black thoughts all day, the kind that no one can know about. They don't surprise him in the least. The dark he stares into from the bed looks almost comforting.

Jem bounds into his room and turns on one of the lights beside his bed, flinging herself onto the mattress beside his feet. He heaves himself into a sitting position, leaning heavily on his elbows. He'll make an effort for her.

"Guess what, guess what!" She's bouncing up and down, making the whole bed shake.

"What, Jem?"

"Henry Lonsdale-- Do you know Henry Lonsdale?" At his slow nod, she continues. "Well, he asked me out today! I said yes. We're going to get ice cream tomorrow. I think we're gonna be boyfriend and girlfriend."

"That's great, Jem," he says, and he means it. He's glad someone in this house is happy. His glad someone in this house has a future and a life. He's glad someone can look at other people and not see terrifying hatred, he's glad someone can go outside without wanting to curl up in a ball, he's glad someone can look to the future and not see a black, gaping maw of nothingness waiting to swallow him whole.

"Do you think he'll try to kiss me? What do I do if he does? Kier?"

He's back in the cave, the area around them lit by flickering candles. Kieren's only a little tipsy, but Rick is well on his way to drunk. Kieren is staring up at the words etched into the stone above Rick's head, written six months ago after a joyous day of freedom wandering through the woods and laughing together, genuinely happy. Rick is talking about a movie he just watched last night, grinning at Kieren beside him as he critiques the production. Kieren is only half listening, making a semi-conscious decision. He shifts, leans forward, leans in.

A hand on his chest stops him. "What are you doing?"

It's a whisper that get's louder and more solid with each word. The sentence lodges itself in Kieren's brain like a bullet. Their noses are almost brushing. Rick shoves himself away and Kieren falls back against the cave wall. He can feel the shakes start in his fingertips.

"I thought-- we were-- you liked me. It's been ages."

Rick runs a hand through his hair, the other clenches on his knee. "I did. I do."

"No one's around. It's the cave, Rick, we're okay here. Just here. It'd be nice if it was out there, too, but I know you won't."

"Can't. I can't."

"Can't what? Can't kiss me? Can't like me like that? Your dad's not here, Rick. He won't know." Kieren is up on his knees, the candles throwing his shadow large and dark across most of the cave. "A kiss in a cave isn't going to turn you into a 'fairy faggot' like me. Nobody has to know. I just-- I just want something good for once."

Rick shakes his head again, rolling to his feet, the motion sending the candle flames straining towards the darkness, swiping a few of them out. "I don't-- I can't. I just can't."

"Rick, wait. Rick, I didn't--" He trots after him to the mouth of the cave, but stops short when he gets to the grass, watching Rick trudge up into the treeline. "Fuck."

Everything is turning to shit.

"Kieren?" Jem is tapping a finger against his bony kneecap.

He shrugs. "I dunno, kiss him back if you want to, I guess. He'd probably like that."

It's been two weeks since the news came. It's been four and a half months since Rick left him in the dark in the cave, regret tugging him to his knees. Two days later they were back again, drunk, hands everywhere, but no lips. They share a pack of cigarettes and Kieren savours Rick's taste on every one. Then he's gone. Then he's _gone_. His fault. What a pathetic goddamn loser. You're better off-- You're better off-- You're better off--

Maybe he would be. Who knows?

"You have to do it, Kier."

He shakes himself. "What? I have to what?"

Jem rolls her eyes at him and swats his leg. "Swear you won't tell mum and dad about this. They'll think I'm too young to have a boyfriend. I don't want to get in trouble. They'd shit bricks, really quietly." The accompanying eye roll is massive enough that Kieren is surprised they don't fall out of her face.

He heaves a deep sigh, trying to push off some of this heaviness on his chest, and gives her a vague attempt at a smile. "All right. I swear."

"Cross your heart and hope to die?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."


End file.
